Go Alone
by Kirrae
Summary: She was the professional that had been called in after their sessions with Black Canary... Dick's seen enough psychologists in the last four years to know that they do it intentionally. A series of one-shots following the episode "Disordered."
1. We All Know We Can't Live Forever

A/N: Because after "Disordered" I just couldn't stop thinking of this. Contains an OC, so be warned. I hate using them, but I just couldn't see this working with anyone else.

Titled after Hell or Highwater's Go Alone, because I was listening to it while I wrote this and the lyrics fit, in a nebulous sort of manner. I'd recommend that you listen to it while you read this, if you have the time. You can probably find it on youtube.

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><p>Go Alone<p>

Chapter 1

Her name was "Valery, but you can call me Val, or even just V if that's easier. Hell, I'd probably answer to Vicky."

She was the professional that had been called in after their sessions with Black Canary. She's wearing some strange costume, like she just walked off a movie set. Stiff black denim tucked into sturdy heeled boots, a loose white shirt under a dark grey corset vest, and a battered red trench that looks like she stole it from a JRPG, all buckles and zippers and too many straps. She doesn't look professional, but that's why he knows she is one. She's relaxed in those clothes like she wears them daily and that sense of comfort is supposed to permeate the meetings they have, like the room's aura could be altered just by her seeming like she fit in that chair.

Dick's seen enough psychologists in the last four years to know that they do it intentionally. That they notice everything, it's like talking to the bat, but where Bruce would intimidate, the therapist tries to be your friend. Its twisted and backwards and he wonders why that outfit is familiar for her. It can't actually be comfortable, whale bones and old denim don't facilitate relaxation even though her shoulders are free of tension.

"So, Robin, what can you tell me about yourself?"

"He didn't give you the files?"

"Oh, he offered, but I told him that it would be counter productive. There's an unconditional positive regard we therapists try to cultivate in our relationships. Once you work this job long enough, you can never turn it off. Analyze everything. I'm sure you're familiar with that."

"Carl Rogers, client-centered therapy, right?"

"Indeed. I'm more cognitive-behavioral than humanistic though. I don't usually work with cooperative patients."

"Meaning?"

"I work for a facility a bit like your Arkham. But don't worry, I'm no Jonathan Crane."

"No, you're probably more Harley Quinn."

"Cute. Sarcasm. Now, we can trade witty quips all day if you'd like, or we can talk about something more personal. It's up to you."

"You aren't going to try to get me to talk about my feelings?"

"Oh, I'd love it if you did, but first sessions rarely go that way. Besides, this is your time. I'm just here to listen. Maybe give some advice, but feel free to disregard all of it if you'd like. We'll spend the next hour any way you want to."

Part of him wanted to talk, to spill his proverbial soul and tell her everything. The broken little boy wanted someone to listen to his pain. The bat trained soldier in him, the part of Dick's mind that kept every thought quiet, that was always several steps ahead except when he deemed in necessary to improvise, the part of Dick that was Robin reminded him that spilling his soul would get him nowhere. It wouldn't heal the pain. He would never get past that.

He sighed. "I'm thirteen. I've been doing this since I was nine. I know what I'm capable of. Or at least, I thought I did. Now, not so much. Did you get Canary's report?" He notices that she doesn't have a clip board or a desk and he admires that. Total recall.

"Only the abridged version."

"You going to diagnose us?"

"With what? PTSD? I'd have to diagnose the entire JLA with that. Along with some delusions of grandeur, attention deficit disorders, a few of you would make great examples of schizotypal personalities, and then there are the speculations about sociopathy... It'd take years to get through everything. And a diagnosis doesn't help for things like this. Much as we like to believe that knowing the name of something makes it easier to fight, with real trauma, its not a fight to survive, but something you simply have to endure. Diagnoses only help with medical problems. Not the psychological."

"Sociopaths?"

"Oh, yeah. Don't even get me started on the inherent psychosis inherent in the desire to dress up in spandex and kevlar to fight the criminal element of the world. I could write a thousand dissertations on that one." She sounded tired, the lilt in her voice denoting her teasing and Dick couldn't help but like her. A therapist who could joke, he could work with that.

* * *

><p>It was halfway through their fourth session that he let the words slip from his tongue.<p>

"I, the part that hurt the most was knowing that I was willingly sacrificing someone. I can't, I can't trust myself, you know?"

"I remember the first time I lead a team." She paused, deliberating.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Why do you think I'm wearing this? That stake isn't for show." She gestured to the large metal stake that hung from a holster at her right hip next to a longsword, a wicked dagger, and a pouch. She had a matching dagger on the other hip.

"Vampire hunter?"

She gave a fanged grin, winked, then ran her tongue over the sharp edge of an elongated canine.

"So, you're a vampire that hunts other vampires?" He was dubious. He'd seen a lot of things, but a vamp that killed other vampires? Maybe she was just as paranoid as Bruce, gods only knew how many files he had on how to take out every member of the JLA in case of mind control, coercion, or any one of four hundred other scenarios the Dark Knight had contingency plans for.

"It's a bit complicated, but we're like a police force. My first mission as leader of a team, and damn did I do my best to avoid that position, it was a disaster. They were new, way in over their heads, and I was going after a level 5 rogue elder. No way they could handle that. Came down to one of them distracting our quarry while I used every ounce of stealth I had to get a good hit on the red-eye. His name was Devon Waller. He'd been undead for six years. A soldier before that, which was why he was turned. So many of us are warriors, found on the brink, it's a common story, but that just makes it worse. I saw his face on every damn recruit we brought in for years. It didn't help that he volunteered, or that he wanted to die. I'd still killed him."

"But didn't you kill that other guy anyway?"

"Sure, but he wasn't sane. Gone mad from feeding on other vampires, hardly sentient at the point we found him. Couldn't give a coherent sentence if you'd written one for him. It's more like putting down a rabid dog than killing a man. And by our morality, some people just deserve to die. Devon though. That kid had a smile that could light up the pits of Hades like Christmas lights."

"How long ago was that?"

"Six centuries ago."

"Do you remember anything else from that mission?"

"Just him."

"Damn."

He looked sheepish, she just smiled.

"I won't tell a soul. Point is, as leader, you have to make those decisions, whether you like them or not. If you sacrifice yourself, you aren't a leader, you're a hero. You can't be both. Sure, you can go back for a fallen man, but that's after you've insured the safety of the rest. Can't leave 'em to deal with a level 5 ancient by themselves because you couldn't let any of them die. What makes you a good leader is remembering the fallen, for feeling that guilt, for knowing that you'd gladly give your life but you can't, and accepting that, for doing what's best for the team rather than what's best for you."

"You sure you didn't get my file?"

"Yeah. I'm just good at reading people. Spend enough time on this earth and you pick up some things."

"How old are you anyway?"

"Let's just say that I knew the golden days of the Roman Empire and leave it at that."

He kept quiet for a moment until the words spilled again.

"I don't want to lead anymore."

"I don't blame you, but the fact that you knew you had to at least see that Mothership out proves that you have what it takes. More than anyone on this team. For now, no one's gonna force you to take command, but leadership is in your blood kid. You have the instincts. Don't let one horrible mission shut you down."

"We have Kaldur, we don't need a new leader."

"Kaldur's a soldier. Born to follow. He works for now, but that mission should have told you something. Who stayed until the end?"

"Megan."

"That's because the simulation was designed to make everything worse. In reality-"

"I know that, but I can't just shut everything off. I can't just become the Batman."

"No one wants you to. You're Robin, not Batboy. Ever think that was significant?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"You aren't the Bat's sidekick. Of all of them, you are the only one who is a partner because for all that Batman teaches you, you teach him."

"Maybe." He glanced at her shrewdly. "Aren't I supposed to be the one doing the talking?"

"You dark and broody types don't talk much, so I figure I do the talking, you tell me if I'm wrong. At the very least I can give you something to think about."

"I couldn't stand to loose him."

"Hmm?"

"Batman- Bruce. I, I couldn't lose my family again. Every time one of them went down, it was Zucco all over again and I held it together because that's how I was trained. I've dealt with Scarecrow's fear gas more than I'd like. I've seen it over and over in my nightmares and I see it every time we watch a kid lose everything they know. I can handle it, but once Miss M took over and we thought it was real- I saw the head of his statue at the Hall of Justice and I kept thinking it had to be a dream, a training simulation, anything, but if it was real, then I was going to finish the mission, for him, then curl up in a ball and die. I can't go through that again. Once was enough. Once was too many."

"You know you'll always have someone at your side."

"What? I just told you-"

"I know. And I know how that feels. Several times over. But I've survived almost two millennia without getting killed, I think I can survive another human lifetime." That statement could have sounded patronizing, should have sounded patronizing, but it wasn't.

He smiled. "Thanks."

* * *

><p>He never thought he'd be burying Bruce. What was left of him. God did that hurt.<p>

He had always hoped that he'd never have to wear the cowl again. He was wrong.

"You know, you don't have to be the Batman. You can be a Batman. A happy one. Or a slightly less serious one. You still have to pull that "I am the night" thing and drive Jim Gordon crazy with the disappearing acts, but you can be a changed Batman. A Batman capable of snarky humor and a smirk. You don't need to be him. No one wants you to be. One was enough, thank you very much."

He turns toward her, "Val."

"Yeah?"

"You are a really shitty therapist."

"I know."

"Then why do you-"

"Because it works. Because it's something I can do that keeps my mind off the next time I have to feed. Because even though I'm a shitty shrink, I'm a good listener. I'm not conventional, and it works."

"Think I could try that?"

"Dickie-bird, I think you already have."

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><p>AN: Please let me know what you think about this.

- Kirrae


	2. Darkness Becomes His Light

A/N: Here's chapter two. Rather different in tone than chapter one, but with a similar theme.

Thanks for the reviews and faves, it means a lot to get feedback, even if I would prefer to know just why you like my work...

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

The first time they talk about his parents, she doesn't linger on the deaths. Dick can't articulate how much he needed that. Someone to just accept it, not dig into the pain and the frustration, not like the other therapists he'd been forced to see since the circus. And while Bruce understood, he hadn't talked much. Batman wasn't a talker and Bruce Wayne truly was more like the Bat than the playboy, so it wasn't surprising when he hadn't offered much in the way of consolation. At the time, Dick hadn't really wanted any.

Val, though, just nodded and gave him a "shit like that really just sucks, doesn't it?"

He'd laughed, because by now he was really appreciating the understatement that for the slayer across from him was just normal statement. The manic part of Dick's soul, the performer, was sorely tempted to curl up in a giddy puddle of cackling and Joker grins because any kind of lightness these days just makes the abyss of anxieties in him turn into a bottomless hysteria. So he laughs too long and too hard at jokes that aren't near funny enough and she knows enough to keep telling them, keep her snarky responses light but quick and abundant.

He doesn't ask how she knows. Doesn't ask why. The story isn't important, it's the familiar imprint of heavy loss and guilt that matters.

By now, he guesses that training simulation really fucked with his head.

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><p>He doesn't realize just how much until they get to Bruce. Because everything comes down to Bruce in the end. Especially when in therapy.<p>

"You should talk to him."

"What? I am not telling him - no. Not happening."

"And you wonder why I worry about you. I didn't mean you had to tell him everything. Just talk. I'm sure he's worried sick by now."

"Yeah. I guess."

"So, other than that, how are things with tall, dark, and batty?"

"Really? Tall, dark, and batty?" He rolled his eyes, "Things are okay, I guess. I mean, he tries, and that's probably more than I can ask for, but-" He cuts himself off. Doesn't want to start complaining about the man who took him in when no one else would, the man he owed so much for _everything_ Dick Grayson has become.

"Yes, really. Now, you were saying he hasn't been the most, how should I put this? _Caring_, shall we say?"

"I just see him slipping more and more each day."

"Then you really should have that talk, little bird."

"He used to laugh, you know? As Bruce, not as the Bat, but, he'd laugh sometimes at the puns. Now I've got to make up words just to get even the slightest hint of an eye-roll!"

"I had wondered about the butchering of the English language."

"Heh, it's a new one. I just can't handle the puns and the witty banter as much as I used to- Don't get me wrong, I'd love to just shout 'Holy time bomb Batman!' again, but, I think I'm slipping _with_ him, and that's why..."

He let the uneasy silence between them grow until he saw her fling herself out of her chair and start stretching. He raised an eyebrow, she ignored him and slid to the floor, throwing her upper body over an outstretched leg, the other curled behind her. A dance stretch. He watched her perform a series of full body stretches before he decided to cut her off when she started working on just her toes.

"What are you doing?"

"Well, you aren't going to talk, so I figured we could try something else. Work out some of your emotions."

"You wanna spar?"

"If you'd like."

"What were you planning then?"

"No, don't worry about it, sparring works."

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><p>He realizes quickly that he shouldn't have volunteered to get his ass handed to him. Although, it did give him decent understanding of just why the JLA would have her on reserve. Terrifying as her gleaming fangs were, the other things she could do would have made Dick Grayson's skin crawl once. Not after his encounters with Two-Face and the Joker (and what the hell was with all the kidnapping from those two?), but he admitted readily that red summoning circles were well on their way to becoming his most hated magical tells.<p>

She starts off slow, simple hand-to-hand sparring, until he's forced to flip up into the rafters and throw a batarang. She then pulls out throwing knives of her own, so he drops back down with the Eskrima sticks. It's a move he'll later make practically infamous as Nightwing, dropping down on his prey from above, descending with weapons ready, and spending half the fight in the air, flipping and cracking down with the two truncheons. For now, it's just a move he doesn't use often enough, and he wonders when he stopped flying so much.

His fighting style used to be full of flips and puns and extra acrobatic flourishes just because. Now he's as efficient and graceless as his mentor. No longer his parents little Robin, but the Bat's protégé, and that sickens him. With the darkening of his costume came the darkening of his spirit and Dick feels caged. By this team, by his mentor, by the scars that forced him to start wearing actual pants instead of a modified acrobat's leotard, by his own life.

He shakes off the thought process as he lands just behind her, having done far less damage than he'd set out to do.

At this point, he notices her eyes get a bit creepier, and she starts throwing blasts of dark magic at him. He dodges most of them, landing a few decent hits, but not doing much damage. She's too skilled to get tripped up by a simple leg sweep and she's acrobatic enough to avoid most of his jumping tactics. He still used them, sure, but he didn't fly anymore. He just jumped.

It's only when the summoning circle appears under her feet that he realizes things just might be steadily declining for him. Val has him pinned to the wall with glowing red shackles, an answering gleam in her eyes, when she suddenly shifts. Her hair straightens out of messy large curls into an almost-white gray waterfall and a black cloak rests on her shoulders, a gleaming scythe floating at her back.

He twists his had, taps thrice on the wall, and he's released, finding a very amused, very normal looking Val grinning at him, red trench held over one shoulder. He doesn't ask about the shift, just accepts that she's got more up her sleeves than she'd ever admit.

He can respect that.

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><p>They get back to talking now, since they've loosened up and he's full of questions.<p>

"So, chaos magic?"

"Something like that. I'm more neutral than anything, but all my magic's chaos based until I get to that final form."

"Weird. Can all vampires do that? I don't Stoker ever wrote about summoning circles and energy blasts."

"He wouldn't. Most of my kind can't do any of that."

"So how can you?"

"So full of questions, Boy Wonder. Such an apt name, that is."

"Huh?"

"So full of questions, so full of wonder."

He wants to smack the damnable smirk off her face that very instance, but he refrains. Not good to hit a therapist who can permanently clip your wings.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I'm deflecting. Now you know how I feel whenever you do it."

"Heh, sorry." Now he feels a bit stupid. Not that he'll admit it.

"Will you answer anyway?"

"I don't drink human blood. My prey is a bit more powerful than that. So I eventually pick up some of their skills."

"Oh. Cool." Its not much of an answer, but its more than he expected.

"Indeed."

"I guess I should start talking now, huh?"

"That'd be nice."

"I- I didn't use to be like this, you know. So dark. It's a relatively new thing. Ever since two years ago, when I changed costumes, it's like the black on the Robin suit has sucked away part of my soul, but I'm pretty sure that's just because of the run in with Joker-" He cut himself off. He wasn't going to talk about this. He wasn't going to go there, damnit.

"The one that left you with a few too many scars on your legs?"

"Yeah."

She doesn't say anything else, just leans over and puts a hand on his knee - as far as she can reach from the scars. The marks on his thighs that will always remind him of too much time spent with the Joker and Harley. They're six marks in total. From a scalpel. While holding him hostage, they'd decided to have some fun and torture him, by peeling away the layers of his skin in six different sections. Taken from his inner thighs because they'd be visible, sensitive, and cause him a lot of mental pain at thinking just what else they could do to him. The Joker wasn't lying when he claimed he'd always wanted to carve the Boy Wonder. He always had. He just wished he'd managed to finish the job.

"He's really worried, isn't he?"

"For him. It's not easy to see, but it's there. He's less patient, more angry, spends just a bit too long looking at video feeds from the Mountain."

"I- I'm acting like I did then, I think. It's probably got him spooked."

"Why do you think I want you to talk to him?"

"Because he's my father figure and I should tell him things."

"Sure, that'd be nice, but you're a teenager. At your age, he should be lucky you even pay attention when he gives you orders. It's a developmental thing, systematic aversion to all kinds of parental curiosity about your life."

"Thanks. The next few years of my life are really looking up."

"Don't worry, it could be worse."

"How?"

"You could be the parent of a teenager."

He laughed again, this time doubled over in cackles that were more a release of tension than anything else.

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><p>When he gets back to Gotham that night for patrol, he sees the tense set of Bruce's shoulders (Bruce, definitely, because the cowl's down), and he decides that while talking isn't really the batfamily's strong suit, they need to settle this. So he decides to throw caution to the wind (Bruce knows he's here anyway, bat training keeping him aware at all times) and he takes a running leap at his guardian. He plants a hand on the back of Bruce's chair, flips over his head, and lands neatly in his lap with a devious cackle.<p>

Bruce's shoulders dropped, a subtle lifting of the corners of his lips notified Dick of his happiness at seeing Dick flipping around the cave again. He hadn't done much of that in a while, hadn't noticed how much he missed it until that spar.

He also hadn't know that Bruce had noticed. But he should have. He was Batman. He knew just about everything.

So, perfect Robin grin on his face, he asked his mentor if they were all set for patrol.

Even though they ended up dealing with Ivy that night, Dick still had that wide grin on his face when they returned to the cave with the rising sun at their heels - Bruce walking sedately from the batmobile, Dick himself turning cartwheels and handsprings to the stairs. Just because Gotham seemed bound and determined to see him turn into the broody bat didn't mean he had to give in. No, he'd be Robin and laugh as he took down thugs, soaring through the air as he ran across rooftops and took near suicidal leaps off the many high-rises. He would keep flying.

With that perfect Robin grin.

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><p>As always, please let me know what you think. Need to know how this is going before I can write another chapter.<p>

- Kirrae


	3. I'll Go Alone

A/N: Just a sort of expansion on Chapter 2, essentially its the team's reaction to Robin's happier attitude.

May be continued in Chapter 4, not too sure yet.

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><p>Chapter 3<p>

Four days later and he starts to hate being cheery again. Not because he's upset with moving on or because he feels that he's not worthy of being a hero with Joker's brands on him, but that he honestly wants to strangle just about every member of his team and about half the League because they keep looking at him like he's some adorable little kitten or something.

His bounciness is apparently making him seem more childish, and as a result, he has become something to be protected instead of someone who does the protecting. His ego is severely wounded. It may never recover.

Everything started out easily, everyone being slightly disconcerted that their resident bird decided that walking was overrated, but they got over it quickly. By the end of the first day, seeing Robin upright was a rarity, and they'd come to tentatively accept it. Wally had it the easiest, having known the superhappy Boy Wonder of old and being well aware of Dick's circus upbringing, so he just assumed that something had reminded him of his parents, and thus he was channeling his former life. Kaldur and Artemis just figured it was some wierd Bat-ritual. M'gann figured it was an expression of inner peace, and Conner wondered if all humans were that weird. He decided that such strange behavior was relegated only to the Bat Clan after seeing Wally and Artemis fail at performing a simple handstand.

It was the first time he smiled at them after training on the second day that did it. They went out for a routine mission that night, simple stealth work and information gathering - a breaking and entering job that Robin could have probably done alone - and predictably, the plan got jettisoned from a proverbial window the moment they landed. (It seemed all of their plans were victim to metaphysical defenestration. Robin did not approve of this trend.) Kid Mouth landed wrong on his ankle when jumping from the bioship, yelped like some demented lap dog, and gave away their position to the armed guards who saw fit to ambush them immediately.

That would have worked to their advantage though, had anyone allowed Robin to slip from the fray and go after the information himself while the others continued on with the massive distraction. His plan was met with disbelief, anger, and a protectiveness Dick never thought he'd have to deal with when in costume since he'd stopped wearing a red vest over a green leotard, complete with bright yellow cape and pixie boots. Dick was wrong.

_'No!'_ Conner

_'What?Rob,youcan't. Whatifsomeone'swaitingforyouandwecan'tgettoyoutohelp-'_ KF

_'We stay together as a team.'_ Kaldur

_'Maybe I could go? I can blend-'_ M'gann. She was obviously going to say something about her camouflage being better than his stealth, but caught herself. It was a blatant lie.

_'It'll be your funeral.'_ Artemis

It could have been over in minutes (4 minutes and 37 seconds by his calculations, with a ± 1.2 second margin of error), but instead it takes just over two hours to take down all the guards, secure them with zip strips, then go hunting for the information and leave an anonymous tip for the local police.

He's in a rather cruel mood when they return to base, so he goes into the training room and goes about setting up as many ropes, bars, and rings as he can in a sort of flyer's paradise. He doesn't want to burn through the anger, but keep it, hold onto it and turn it into logic and rationality with that cutting edge his mentor is so famous for, so he flies to push it from his mind temporarily.

Of course, his luck being what it is, Wally and Megan had found him in the training room about an hour later. They walked in right as he attempted one particularly daring swing from the high bar to a rope five feet away and four feet above him. He could easily make it, sure, but if he timed his release wrong, there was another bar just six feet below the rope he was attempting to swing to, a bar he could easily grab onto should he miss.

They don't give him the chance.

"ROB!"

Kid Flash sped so he was just under the acrobat, arms waiting to catch him, and Megan lifted him telekinetically, holding him in midair. He tries not to growl in a particularly batty fashion, and fails, miserably.

"You can put me down now, Miss M. I'm perfectly fine." He sounds bitchy, even to his own ears. He'd wince at that, but he's too damn angry to care. She lowers him slowly, softly, like she expects him to shatter on impact, and it does nothing to improve his mood.

"Thanks." He stalks out.

* * *

><p>"-okay, so I get that we're a team, but they all suck at stealth. I know Canary's trying, but learning to walk silently around the base - which is all concrete and steel - is one thing. Being silent on rooftops, on creaky old floorboards in old mansions, on catwalks and rope bridges, in forests, that they can't handle, and they just can't be taught here. That's one of my main areas of study. I can disappear and appear at will, blend into the shadows, and walk without most people hearing a sound. The only ones who hear me coming are Bruce, Alfred, and the Supes. So I don't get why they just can't let me use my damn skills to get information quietly while they do what they can to keep the heat off my back. It'd be one thing if any of them could sneak in with me, but even Artemis isn't good enough for that. Sure, she was trained by the Shadows, but that doesn't mean she's got the right shoes for it. Her boots are way too clunky for a precision job. She's also better long range, so it's best not to bring her with me." He was so ranting right now.<p>

"I assume they just don't like the idea of you going alone."

"It'd be for five minutes at most and I'm the only one who could do it. They're wasting a valuable resource."

"Is that really what's bothering you?"

"No. What bothers me is the fact that I've been doing this for longer than each of them combined and they still think I'm an inept child. Sure, I can act childishly, and I like to laugh and have fun sometimes, but damn it, that doesn't mean I need to be coddled. If anything, they're the ones who need the coddling. They can't handle the pressure most times. And that's fine, they don't live and work in Gotham, they haven't had the face-time with Joker, Two-Face, and Ivy that I have. That's fine. Better for them. But I'm not hopeless. I'm a capable fighter on my own and I'm the only one skilled at information extraction. If anything, I'd be better on those missions going alone then taking a team of inept goons with me who just get underfoot and can't even understand a simple concept like creating a distraction."

"I realize that you're angry, and you have a right to be, but have you thought about why they want to protect you?" They both ignore the fact that he's being shamelessly unfair to his team. They accept that its happening, know why, and ignore it. Analyzing his anger would be unproductive.

"Yes. Which is why I'm okay with the normal coddling. The fact that they keep trying to get me out of the line of immediate fire; that Superboy will take body shots for me when he thinks I'm not looking; that Kaldur tries to keep me to the sidelines with the girls, providing ranged assistance; that Wally does his best to be my clumsy shadow; that Artemis is always ready with an arrow to shoot over my shoulder if someone gets the drop on me; that M'gann keeps dragging the bad guys away from me at any chance she gets. That I'm okay with. But blatantly not letting me do something when it's the best option the team has for success - that I'm not okay with. Because that's not caring about your friends. That's them seeing me as a weakness, as a liability. I've never been a liability to this team since I told Kaldur to take the lead."

She nods at him, evaluating him with that look he's learned to recognize as pensive.

"Alright little bird. Go work off some steam, lecture the punching bags about how they ought to respect you more, and get this out of your system. Then talk to them. Tell them they're smothering you and it's negatively effecting the team. Go Batman on them if you have to. I know you can do it."

That brought back bad memories - the training simulation. She saw his shoulders tense and laid a hand on his right.

"Not like that. Just add some distance and far too much logic with some stern reprimands and constant reminders that emotions make them inefficient fighters. It might be a bit of bullshit, but if it works..."

"You really suck at this therapy thing, don't you?"

"Nah, I'm great at my job. I'm just a pragmatist."

"Aren't those kind of-"

"Mutually exclusive? Yeah. I like to do the impossible. Now, off with you Boy Wonder."

She calls after him when he reaches the door.

"And keep smiling. It's good to see you happy."

* * *

><p>He stares at his masterpiece as he tapes it up in the common room. He might have gotten a bit devious while beating through those punching bags, but he hacked the BatComputer a week after learning what hacking was, he should be entitled to a few moments of deviousness. It's also rather creative and manipulative and he thinks Val would be proud. Maybe Bruce, too, if this works properly. He's learned a lot from his sessions with the therapist, learned a bit how to manipulate people into getting the reaction that you want, learned how to twist things just so. Its not reverse psychology, because that's bullshit. Its more of applied social psychology. So this is an experiment, of sorts. On order effects. It's brilliant, really.<p>

_Yeah_, he thinks,_ Bruce would be proud._

It's a large poster, taped up in the common room where they'll all see it as they head in for breakfast tomorrow, just before their scheduled de-briefing (Killer Croc broke out of Arkham earlier that night and the Bat was needed in Gotham, so they scheduled their weekly session of ego destruction for 10 am. Luckily it was friday night and they were all sleeping at Mount Justice). Hopefully they'll all be asleep enough to just get the gist of what his poster titled '_The 99 BatRules of Crimefighting_' is intended to symbolize. He feels a bit like Martin Luther nailing his list grievances with the Vatican on the door of a Catholic church as he hangs the poster. It's an artistic rendering of Dick's pocket journal of all the BatRules he has to live under. He picked the most important ones to add to the poster, and right at the bottom, number 96, is the most important one - _Respect your teammates: no coddling, no babying, this is a war, not a daycare. Every soldier is required and expected to give his all in the line of duty. If you cannot respect your teammates enough to let them fight alone, you aren't a team._

It was more a corollary to number 87 - _A team is a group composed of several self-sufficient individuals banding together under a common purpose. If you cannot carry your own weight, you are a liability. If you cannot let someone carry theirs, you have made them a liability._

Which went back to number 3 - _Under no circumstances is a liability to be suffered_.

All in all, he thinks he was rather successful getting his message across. And he didn't even have to open his mouth to shout them down from their idiocy.

* * *

><p>His promise to Val made him flip into the common room later that morning. That was probably a mistake.<p>

"Robin."

Looks like Kaldur isn't too happy about the poster.

"What? I just thought we could all use the reminders. I mean, I keep a copy of all the rules with me at all times, but I just thought the team could use some of them. And I mean, we are a team, so we share our knowledge and abilities right? So..."

"Dude, you have a book of BatRules?"

"Duh."

"I should be surprised, but I'm not."

"Good."

They just stare at him as he happily tears into a muffin.

"Uh, guys, you wanna finish eating? We've got to meet with Bats in ten."

They go back to eating, unamused. Dick's fine with that. He even bounces on their way to the debriefing room.

Batman is never exactly in a _good_ mood, but he's clearly pissed this morning. Dick assumes it was a late night and damn it if Bruce didn't hate getting out of bed before ten thirty if he didn't have to.

"Robin, report."

If anyone's surprised by this, they don't show it. For his part, the acrobat just raises an eyebrow, knowing Bruce had already read his report.

"We got to the location as easily as expected, but on debarkation we hit a snag. Kid Flash landed on the side of his ankle and gave away our position. We were ambushed moments later. During the ensuing battle I requested permission to go ahead and get the information while the others provided a distraction. My request was denied and we took the guards out before going in as a team to retrieve the information."

"Why was your request denied?"

"From what I gather, the others did not think it prudent to let me go in alone. I believe they were concerned that someone would be waiting to ambush me in the building while I was breaking into the computer."

"And no one could go with you?" Bat-skepticism at its best.

"Due to the number of guards present, it would be inadvisable to reduce the team to such small a number, especially over a one-man job."

Batman nodded. "Robin, you are dismissed, for now."

Dick grinned, and proceeded to back-handspring into a backflip on his way out the door. Batman merely shook his head. Dick didn't hover at the door, he didn't need to. He simply hacked into the video feeds and watched the scene from his holo-computer.

"- I understand your concerns, but whatever you may believe about Robin's ability to handle himself you need to remember that he is a fully trained operative, a master of several forms of martial arts, an expert marksman, and the most experienced member of this team." Here he looked directly at Kaldur, then Wally, Megan, and Conner.

"Perhaps this will be an efficient reminder of just who it is you're treating like a fledgling just out of the nest."

With that, Batman tosses a file at their feet, and walks toward the transporter beams.

"Robin."

Because Bruce knew he'd hack the video feed. And he knew Bruce would know, but he wouldn't be a Bat if he didn't monitor everything that went on around him. Especially things involving his partner. Unrepentantly, he closed down the computer and flitted to the Dark Knight's side. "Batman."

They shared a look, and entered the zeta-beam.

They stepped out into the streets of Gotham, silently made their way to the inconspicuously parked Batmobile, and made their way home.

"You gave them my file."

"The abridged version. No names. Glosses over your history - mentions of familial tragedy - and focuses mostly on your recent history."

"Think it'll work?"

"If it doesn't, they're dumber than they look."

"Nice pun by the way, but you should leave those to the experts. Yours just fall flat."

"Dick."

"Was that an insult or just a parental warning?"

He was answered with a glare.

"Just checking."

They pulled into the cave and Dick had his guardian in a hug before the man had taken two steps out of the vehicle.

"Thanks Bruce. You're, well, you're kind of the best."

He neglects to mention that while he was hacking the video feeds, he decided to change the desktop background on the BatComputer. He thought the My Little Pony Batman and Robin fan art was hysterical and he just couldn't pass up that kind of an opportunity.

"_Robin!_"

Bruce, apparently, disagreed.

"Holy My Little Pony, Batman!"

"Not. Funny. At. All."

"You know, I should be worried that you learned to speak with periods between your words, but I'm not."

"You're waxing the Batmobile. For the next month."

At least it wasn't Penny shining duty. That really sucked.

* * *

><p>AN: For reference: Robin's mention of order effects refers to the pieces of information that we remember best when presented with a series of stimuli. Everything presented first and last is remembered with far more ease than anything in the middle. Thus, Robin's three key points are listed as 3, 87, and 96 out of 99 items, so they'll be remembered more easily by the team.

Also - the penny referenced at the end has to do with the giant penny trophy in the Bat Cave. I'm assuming Earth-16's Cave has said giant penny. The animatronic T-Rex may also make an appearance later on in this series.

Please, let me know what you thought of this chapter.

Thanks for reading!

- Kirrae


	4. While All of My Sins Catch Up With Me

A/N: Okay, so this is a continuation of chapter 3 (which is a continuation of 2, so it's like a three-chapter mini-arc or something) and mostly consists of me stalling while trying to figure out what the teams reactions are, and then kind of failing at capturing that response.

That being said, I greatly enjoyed writing the first five pages of this. The last two took forever (read: six days)

Reviewers (as a whole), thanks so much. It's always great to have feedback, especially if I can respond to you via PM, because then I don't have to clutter every chapter with long responses that just end up being me ranting about my headcanon... Thanks for dealing with that ladies and gents ^_^

* * *

><p>Chapter 4<p>

"You really aren't good at this, are you Bruce?"

"That's very supportive, Dick."

"Oh, you wanted positive reinforcement? I'm sorry. I've spent the last four years without it, so I'm not exactly sure how to give that anymore."

"Dick, I-"

"Don't. I'm just pissed at the team and taking it out on you, but you really are a fun sucker, you know that right?"

"A fun sucker?"

"Eh, I'll find a better term for you some day."

Why he'd ever thought it'd be a good idea to work on Bruce's sense of humor on the trapeze, Dick would never know. It was bad enough that Bruce wasn't exactly agile enough for most of the complicated moves Dick preferred, but to do it while trying to get him engaged in witty banter was practically suicide.

"It's really not that difficult. Just swing your legs to build up momentum, release at the apex of your swing, flip, catch, turn, repeat."

"Says the circus performer."

Dick really hated his weekends sometimes. Morning was training, training, and more training. Afternoons had him checking in at Mount Justice for some team training, and nights were the typical patrols in Gotham. Sure, that meant he got to spend his time being useful, doing what he was born for, but it also meant that he had to go back to Mount Justice to watch his teammates pour over his personal file from the BatCave... Okay, the edited version, but still. They'd know most of what had happened to him, he wasn't sure if he was ready for that, but if anything, they deserved to know something about him. They all had their secrets, but he was the only one who was a secret, so let them read the file. He'd deal with the repercussions.

Which was probably why Bruce was even attempting to continue the lame repartee while working. He was normally quiet, only pointing out areas of improvement, and never wasting a single movement during training. Except today, because tonight Dick would have to confirm his teams worst fears.

He just needed to distract himself until then. And if there was anywhere that let him feel free, truly unbound by any of the tethers that tied him as either Dick Grayson or Robin, it was on the trapeze, it was mid-flight, almost falling but always landing.

"Hey, Bruce?" he calls as he pulls himself up on the bar, managing to sit along it lazily like a swing. His mentor follows suit with far less grace, not to say that Bruce's graceless, but that, in comparison to the acrobat, the man is- well, he's no trained acrobat, but his gymnastic capabilities allow him to manage here. That's the biggest difference between them. Bruce is brutal efficiency while Dick is flashy fluid movement.

"Hmm?"

"Thanks."

He gets a smile. Which, with Bruce, is really just a slight tilting of the corners of his lips and a minuscule tilting of his eyes. He's grateful he's spent the last five years of his life studying the subtle signs of Bruce and Alfred. Without the limited knowledge he's picked up, he'd never manage to survive. He lives off those subtle signals and non-words.

"Oh, you wanna take a break? Hit the floor. There's this move I was working on with Val the other day. I think you'll like it."

"So, she's teaching you now?"

"Just when I need to work through something. It's nice having someone to talk to that understands, you know? Not that I can't talk to you, but-"

"I understand." He knows Bruce means it. After all, he's almost certain that Val's stay with the Young Justice team was organized by the man solely with Dick's problems in mind.

They hit the mats and warm up, start with some practice katas before moving into an actual spar. Bruce gets into the perfect place, just where Dick wants him, and his feet are moving before he consciously notices. It's a high kick, into a spin kick, into a flip-dodge. They still once he lands.

"Capoiera." It's no surprise that Bruce recognizes the move's origins. The quick complicated movements, the aerial maneuverability, and the high kick are all indicative of the Brazilian martial art.

"Yeah, she figured, with my flexibility..." He trails off, and they're moving again.

Sometimes, he really loved his weekends.

* * *

><p>One of these days, he was going to burn the days Saturday and Sunday off his calendar. And he would bathe in the sound of the crinkling paper succumbing to the flames, he would watch the flickering light permeate the room, and he would love every second of it with a kind of psychotic glee that would make every quark in his body shiver.<p>

Provided that image was able to burn the current one off of his retinas.

He likes his team, don't get him wrong, but he really hates the looks on their faces right now. Look, singular, is more like it, because they each have an identical expression on their faces. One of pity and awe in a combination that should not even be possible.

Wally is the one to break the silence.

"Dude."

His exclamation is followed by a heavy silence and Dick just stays in the doorway.

"Why didn't you ever tell me you're actually a legitimate ninja?"

"Never came up in conversation?"

"Dude, seriously, bros don't hold information like that back. This is awesome!" Except for the fact that Wally looks like someone killed his dog. He never really was good at acting.

"Yeah. I mean, it's useful to know. Not the most practical in most situations, but in Gotham, Ninjutsu has its uses."

They look at him for one hard moment.

"Anything else interest you guys about my file?" He's hoping he can just get this over with. They don't appear to be cooperative.

More silence. Some awkward shuffling and Kaldur actually looks like he's on the verge of twiddling his thumbs.

"Fine. Common room. Twenty minutes. Be ready." And Dick stomps out of the kitchen, cape flying up to obscure his path like he damn well leads this team in full Bat-fashion.

The statement should have less truth to it than it does, and that stings.

* * *

><p>He finds her in the training room, on the floor in front of a few mirrors, back arched over a leg, in a leotard, tights, and leg-warmers. It's a sight so 1980 he doesn't know if his brain can handle it. He snaps himself out of it though. Dance fashion isn't a priority.<p>

"You're going to help me, aren't you?"

Val looks up from her stretch, sighing, and nods at him. "How long've I got?"

"Fifteen."

"Good. Join me?"

"Sure."

He knows he'll have to join team training with Canary in an hour and a half, but this isn't training so much as stretching, making sure he doesn't have to deal with crepitus and snapping hip syndrome, both of which he knows the hunter next to him fell victim to ages ago. Hearing her move sometimes is only a matter of listening for inhuman crackling noises that resonate like machine-gun fire.

It'd disgust him if he wasn't quite so morbidly fascinated with the painless noises.

"So, Bats gave them your file?"

They're in the main training room which translates to non-civilian identities only.

"Yeah. He figured it'd get them to stop treating me like a kid. I'm worried that they'll just start treating me like a _victim_ instead."

"You ain't a victim, kid."

"I know that. You know that. B knows that. They don't."

"You want me to help them get that?"

"You're the only one who can."

"True enough."

She stands up, shaking out her limbs in that loose fashion of a dancer, practically shimmying from her ankles to her neck. He follows suit and rolls his joints back into place. They may stretch the same muscles over the same bones in similar ways, but for her to roll a joint was to exert perfect control over the play of tendons and ligaments in a way that was pure show. For him, it was all about preparing for flight.

They bow to one another in ridiculously ostentatious manners. He's rather glad she shared quite a bit of her own history with him. Their pasts in some form of a performance lifestyle makes it easier for him to handle telling her about the good memories of his days as an aerialist.

"You lost there, little bird?"

"Nah. So, why Val?"

"My codename's been Valkyrie for so long, it just felt fitting. At least for this life."

"Valkyrie?"

"I didn't choose it. I'm not Norse, so I wouldn't go for one of their legends." He tries not to think of just why a Roman Praetor's daughter wouldn't want to have a Norse codename.

"Well, it is kind of fitting."

"Heh, yeah, it is, isn't it? I'd have gone with Nerio, personally, but Valkyrie works a bit better."

"More recognizable, at least."

"I do like the thought of having wings. Well, depending on the depiction."

She put a hand on his shoulder and they walked from the training room like they were just going to grab water on a break. Not a thing like going to have a conference about what exactly his file meant. He wonders what the team will do when she walks in with him.

_Probably nothing. Though Wally will probably question the leotard._

The thought makes the edges of his mouth curl in a Bruce smile. It's the most he can manage for now. Val just ruffles his hair and grins at him like some demented marionette. He knows not to trust that smile, simply on principle. Expressions like that are never a good sign. Especially not on someone who has about two millennia of knowledge on being devious.

"What are you planning?"

"Nothing. Just imagining the looks on their faces."

_That's so comforting, V. So concerting._

* * *

><p>The team is jumpy. Val gets too much amusement out of it, but she masks it well.<p>

"So, shall we get started?" She even claps her hands together like a television stereotype.

Artemis practically claws at the cushions of the chair she's sitting on. "No offense, but why are you here?"

"I'm just here to make sure this gets resolved. I'm essentially a mediator."

"What if we don't need mediation?"

"Then I just sit here."

"Why?"

"Because it's my job."

"Right."

"So, uh, we should probably start this, right?" Val rolled her eyes at him. He glared back.

"Is this absolutely necessary? The team can function without-"

"Kaldur, I understand where you're coming from. You want to avoid a painful confrontation and that's admirable, but in some cases, these things need to be met head on. Especially in circumstances like this. If you don't resolve this now, it could lead to one of you getting gravely injured or worse on your next mission. That's also avoiding the fact that you all are friends, which means this needs to happen even more than it would if you were merely coworkers." A guidance councilor waxing poetic wasn't something Dick thought he'd ever have to see in Mount Justice. Clearly he needs to reevaluate his worldview.

They just look at each other quietly, no one moving, and Dick feels his control falter, the anxiety and nerves spilling out of his pores in rage. Part of him realized that this was incredibly unhealthy but, as would often be pointed out to him from this point foreword, he was the Bat's protege. If he didn't act like the man occasionally, they'd all be concerned.

It's more honesty than most of them have ever seen from him. And it's just one clipped sentence. Short. Four words. Fifteen letters. One apostrophe.

"Don't even think it."

He won't allow them to pity him.

"What are you talking about?" Wally sounded completely perplexed.

"Don't pity me. Don't be amazed. I am what I am. Accept it, and let's move on, okay?"

"Sure thing, Rob, but, uh- you know how we- well, I know you're probably trained for this or something, 'cause Bats is crazy - but, well there was that time-"

"Wally, you're rambling."

"Right. Um, what I'm trying to say is-"

"Wally."

"I'mgladyou''dbeokaybecauseI'msureyou'vefoughthimsinceeverything,butlike,he'scrazyandIdon'tblameyouifyoucan''remybestfriendandIcareand..."

"Breathe Walls."

"I'm good. You get that?"

"Sort of. And for the record, I'm good with Joker. Well, good with fighting him, that is. Trap me in a room with him again and I'll probably get a bit jumpy. Same goes for Two-Face. Especially if he has a coin and two hostages." He looks out at the others. Megan looks two seconds away from pulling him into a hug. Artemis seems to be re-evaluating him. Kaldur has a measured look of pride, like an older brother watching his younger sibling survive something godawful, it's pride and shared pain. Conner just looks a bit sad and confused, tries to mask it, but he's worse at hiding his emotions than Bruce, doesn't have the experience, and Dick reads it easily.

Meagan croons "Oh, Robin" and catches him in a hug, Kaldur puts a hand on his shoulder, Wally screams "Group hug!" and latches onto him, Artemis ruffles his hair, and Conner stands to the side equal parts confused and amused.

Val gets in on film, because she hates him.

* * *

><p>Before they start their usual team training, Wally catches up to him, blurring to his side in typical speedster fashion.<p>

"So, that's why you got all twitchy with the Boy Hostage jokes and started to wear pants?"

"Smiley face scars aren't really the best for striking fear into the hearts of Gotham villains." His eyes roll into the back of his head behind his mask.

"Neither were the scaly underwear." _Oh, he did not just-_

"One, it was a leotard. Two, that costume wasn't designed for fear. Three, the scales were armor. So-"

"Wait, you had armored _panties_?"

"LEOTARD."

"Right, a _leotard_. That's so much better."

"I'm an acrobat!"

"Uh huh. Sure thing boy who wears fairy boots."

"You're just jealous of their awesome, KF. Their terrifying power of awesome."

"And this is your newest attempt to be scary?" Wally gestures to his current Robin suit.

"Nah. It's all about the stealth. Realized I'm never going to be as creepy as B, so why try?"

"You gonna let us call you Shorpants anytime soon?"

"I know those are the best insults you and Roy have for me, but you're gonna need some new ones."

"Fine, Batboy."

"Yeah, that name sucks. I ever tell you that?"

"I know. That why you didn't pick it?"

"Partly, Flash Boy."

A long suffering groan is his reply.

"I hate you, I hope you know that."

"Noted, twinkletoes."

* * *

><p>AN: Let me know what you thought of this chapter. Next should be up sometime next week and, well, it's going to be strange. It will include a lot of me mucking around with most of DC's comicverse cannon. It will include Deathstroke and is a 'dear god this should never happen' AU for the Renegade arc. I will probably hate myself for writing it.

You are the only ones with the power to stop this, but I probably won't listen anyway.

References:

Crepitus - a medical term to describe the grating, crackling or popping sounds and sensations experienced under the skin and joints.

Snapping Hip Syndrome - (also referred to as coxa saltans, iliopsoas tendinitis, or dancer's hip) is a medical condition characterized by a snapping sensation felt when the hip is flexed and extended. This may be accompanied by an audible snapping or popping noise and pain or discomfort. Most forms of athletics (but specifically ballet and gymnastics) leave one prone to snapping hip syndrome, as repeated hip flexion leads to injury.

- Kirrae


	5. The Man With the Devil by His Side

A/N: This took me forever, and for so many reasons. Partly it was finals and the holidays, but mostly it was me sitting down to write this and thinking 'why do I hate myself so much?' because this is awful. I will claim now that this is so incredibly OOC that I won't even pretend it's within the realm of possibility for YJ's Dick Grayson. It's barely within the realm of possibility for any part of Dick Grayson's continuity (all of DC's 52 universes included)...

Alright, just to make this make sense, here are the major things you need to know:

1. Dick is currently working with Deathstroke the Terminator (Slade Wilson) under the alias Renegade. He is helping teach Rose Wilson (Ravager) how to fight.

2. Slade is something of a second mentor to Dick (as is usual).

3. Jason is recently back in Gotham and therefore has not assumed the identity of Hush, nor does he have a criminal record in Gotham. He has not killed that the Batfam knows of.

4. All of YJ (save Wally and Dick) are either permanently incapacitated or dead.

5. Roy is working under the alias of Arsenal (for continuity reasons... also Red Arrow is totally a rip-off Green Arrow and I'm assuming that by now he'd have gotten that memo.)

6. The Titans were never formed as a group, although the individuals involved do exist, though the only one mentioned here is Starfire (Koriand'r).

7. Blockbuster (Roland Desmond) has bombed Dick Grayson's Bludhaven apartment complex as well as Haley's Circus, killing 42 people. He was then shot by Tarantula (Catalina Flores).

8. That pretty-much-rape-scene (that DC claims was just non-consensual and not rape... 'cause that's apparently acceptable -_-) between Dick and Catalina never happened because I think DC failed spectacularly at dealing with it, and for the purposes of this story, it made more sense if it didn't happen.

9. Alexander Luthor (posing as Lex) has organized a Secret Society of Supervillains, the actions of whom will lead to the Infinite Crisis storyline. Basically - they fuck with the time-stream while a massive Super-villain v. Superhero melee goes on.

10. Stephanie Brown's death has been faked at the hands of Black Mask. She acted as Robin for a short time.

11. Barbara Gordon is working as Oracle, after having been paralyzed due to an attack by the Joker (on her civilian identity).

12. Cass Cain is Batgirl. Tim Drake is back as Robin.

That should cover everything. If you have any questions, let me know.

**And remember, this has no bearing on anything else I will write in this. It's a possible future that will never happen and never should****.**

Caveat: If, for some reason, you all want me to do some sort of follow-up to this, I will. But it will be clearly marked. Let's just call this GA Earth-2, while chapters 1-4 were from GA Earth-1.. Or something.

* * *

><p>"<em>It's been a long time since I killed a man<em>

_Some men don't need a reason why,_

_Some people find it hard to understand_

_Fact is, some poeple need to die._

_..._

_'Cause I've been searching for heaven_

_While running from hell._

_And now I see, what lies ahead of me_

_I know I'll be forgotten while all my sins catch up with me._

_I'll go alone._"

From Go Alone by Hell or Highwater

Chapter 5

He stood along the crenelations of one of the smaller towers in Gotham with Slade Wilson's voice in his ear. Some part of Dick Grayson rankled at the thought, being home after years in New York and Bludhaven but on the wrong side of the war. Was he? In Batmans mind, unequivocally yes. In truth, Ravager, Deathstroke and himself walked a thin grey line between the Capes and the criminals they chased.

Batman would always chase the Joker, eventually he'd catch him, and then place him in Arkham. The Joker always escaped. That was the main problem with the criminal justice system. The GCPD (and the government as a whole) could not truly contain the most dangerous of the criminal element. The only way to truly stop them, was to kill them. It didn't always work, the dead had a habit of coming back (Ra's al Ghul and his Lazarus Pits came to mind), but it was something, at least.

Dick had enough blood on his hands that he could understand the point of taking a few down with him. A few that really deserved to fall at Renegade's hands.

He rand a hand down the kevlar designed to look like plate armor, over the stylized red bird on his chest, and tried not to think of the old days.

A flicker of movement caught the corner of his visual field, a blur of red, black, and a brown leather jacket.

_Jason_.

Renegade flew after him. He couldn't let his little brother repeat all of his mistakes, now could he? If only Slade could understand that.

"You thinkin' about goin' home, kid."

"You know I don't have one, Deathstroke."

"Not an answer."

"Only one I've got."

"I really miss the word-play, Grayson. Not as much as those green shorts of yours, though."

"You really are just a dirty old man, aren't you Slade?"

The older man laughed, Dick wanted to hate that laugh, hate the man at the other end of his commlink, but he couldn't. He never could. It'd be like hating Bruce, and that was one thing he never could do. Despite the betrayals, the years of fighting, all the feelings of inadequacy, he wasn't ever able to make himself hate the man who became his second father.

"Just don't get caught by the Bat. I'd hate to have my best student thrown in jail."

"You just don't want to have to teach Rose yourself."

"Watch your back, Kid."

"I know. He won't allow two rogue Robins on the loose in Gotham at once."

He shut off his comm and landed on a roof just above Jason's position.

"What do you think you're doing, little wing?" He jumped down, his landing a silent punctuation.

"Damn it, Dickie-bird. Do you have to-?" Red Hood keeps his eyes trained on his mark.

"You don't want to kill that man, Jason."

"What- he rapes and murders little girls, Dick, of course I want to-"

"You might think you want to kill him, but you don't. You want him dead, Jay, that's different."

Jason turns around to look at him, rips off the helmet, and promptly looses his train of thought.

"What the fuck are you wearing, Goldie?"

"Doesn't matter. Now put the gun down, follow him, collect evidence, and phone it in."

"I'm not-"

"You will, or so help me, I will drag you back to the Cave myself."

"He won't take me back."

"You don't have blood on your hands yet, Jay. He'll take you back. He might take your guns, but he won't send you to prison. Red Hood doesn't have much of a criminal record. Just some assaults and a case or two of breaking and entering. No more than the Bat. Renegade, on the other hand..."

The assassin watches as the pieces fall into place in his brother's mind. He sees the growing understanding and horror on Jason's masked features as he takes in the new costume, the red, the armor, the twin swords and the sniper rifle. Mostly he just wishes the disbelief would vanish, that people would accept what he's become and stop trying to talk him out of it. There is no going back. Not for him.

"You a merc now, Dick?"

"Just go home, Jay. I've got work to do."

He pickpockets both of his brother's guns before flying off the edge of the building.

* * *

><p>"Put the gun down, Dick." He never looked up from the scope, crosshairs waiting.<p>

"I thought it was code-names only in costume, B." He should know better than to push the Bat's buttons when he's a criminal. He was barely afforded the ability to survive as the man's mouthy sidekick. Hell, even as Nightwing he wouldn't have pushed his luck this far.

"Put the gun down."

"And here I thought I'd have an arrest on sight order. How disappointing." He did know better, but he had to keep Bruce talking. Keep him distracted just long enough for his target to-

He pulled the trigger and the Black Mask fell. He expects the attack, the roundhouse kick that would have caught him in the middle of his back if he hadn't twisted up and to the side of the rifle, grabbing it and slinging it on his back as he danced away from the expected blows. He knows how the Bat fights.

Normally, this would be cause for concern because just as clearly as he knows Bruce's fighting style, his mentor knows how to take him down as Dick, as Robin, and as Nightwing.

He isn't any of those people.

He grabs a sword off his back, twirls it in one hand, and while he doesn't want to hurt Bruce, he has to fight him. It's the only way out. The only way he can finish his mission. Once he's finished, he doesn't care what happens to him. Maybe he'll turn himself in. Maybe he'll go find Waller, she could use the help. Maybe he'll ask Slade to kill him. Not that the man would, but it was an option.

He uses the sword as a distraction, keeps it in a defensive position, daring for Bruce to attack. He won't, but the suggestion is enough. The right hand doesn't know what the left is doing and he knows all about misdirection.

He uses a twisting maneuver someone other than himself couldn't pull off, and was out of the Bat's main striking range. He took off running along rooftops and before the other could catch up, he turned and threw down a small explosive disk and a smoke bomb. Not enough to cause major damage, but enough to obscure his path, then he dove off a building and headed into the sewer system.

* * *

><p>He loads the tranqs into his handgun, keeps it low at his side. His quarry should be just around this corner, a dark shape moves under the water, quick behind him, and he turns. He unloads four tranquilizers into Killer Croc, holsters the gun at his thigh, and leaps with swords outstretched. He lands on Croc's torso, knocks him back with the impact, and hits him four times, quick, with the twin swords before dragging the right over his neck. He kicks back with his feet, flips, lands, and walks away. He doesn't need to wait to see Croc fall.<p>

He taps on his comm. "Two down, one left."

"Good work, Kid. Need me to keep the Bat off your tail?"

"You offering to run interference for me? How sweet, Deathstroke. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you actually liked me."

"Cute, Kid, keep it up and I might just let him take you off my hands."

"And here I thought you didn't want him to catch me."

"Exactly. Don't do anything stupid. I'm going to need Renegade at the meeting with Luthor tomorrow. If I don't-"

"He'll piece together exactly whose been killing off his Supervillain Society members, and even though these last two have nothing to do with it-"

"He'll still know. He'll he probably does already, either way..."

"Best not tip him off."

"You going to do something about Wayne's boy?" Damian. Bruce and Talia's son. The son Bruce knew nothing about.

"I was planning on taking him in, tonight."

Left unsaid is the 'don't get your ass thrown in jail, Grayson.' He's heard it enough tonight, and if all goes as planned, he'll be able to bargain the necessary 24 hours. Provided he was able to spirit the kid away to the BatCave. He was rather mouthy and arrogant, for a seven year old, but still a kid enough to be lured by the promise of meeting his 'legendary' father.

The part of Dick that still cares (will always care) feels awful for using Damian's own insecurities to lure him into leaving his mother, but he knows Bruce won't believe him unless he sees the kid with his own eyes and is able to run the necessary tests. If the kid wasn't already being trained by the Shadows, he'd feel bad for dragging him into this war.

He heard a subtle, almost imperceptible chime from the computer at his wrist. He grinned, looked like someone was trying to hack him.

_Hn, good luck_.

* * *

><p>His last contract was personal. They were all personal, but this more than the others. This wasn't avenging family or friends. This was avenging family, friends, himself, and everything he'd ever stood for. It was personal on a visceral level. This was why he'd agreed to Deathstroke's terms.<p>

The boat he'd hijacked pulled up to high cliff wall that marked a suicidal jump from Arkham grounds to the river. There was a secondary BatCave up in the catacombs. A cave he'd break into both on his way in and on his way out. Of course, he couldn't have anyone knowing he'd broken in, but he'd been hacking Bruce's systems for years. That wouldn't be difficult.

No, the trouble would be in keeping this purely professional. Much as it was a personal hit, it was still a contract. It had to look like a contract. A contract that looked like a suicide...

God, he needed to pick less complicated hits.

Although, nothing said he couldn't have a little fun with it. Well, maybe not fun, exactly, although he'd been slipping toward the side of complete sociopathy since watching Blockbuster die. He comforted himself with the thought that he was still sane, still capable of hacking the batcomputer, as long as that was true, he'd be fine.

* * *

><p>He really shouldn't have been surprised to see her leaning against the wall next to the access tunnel exit he used to get back to one of Deathstroke's satellite bases. The tunnel itself was primarily used by the League of Shadows, but his recent career change allowed him limited usage. Which, when he got over the whole kind-of-on-the-same-side-as-the-Shadows thing, was pretty damn awesome.<p>

She didn't speak, just looked at him, gave a brief salute, and continued to lean against the building in a careful slouch.

"I've killed people, V. So many people."

"Fourty-three of 'em weren't your kills, kid."

"Still my fault they died."

"Maybe. Depends on your particular moral sentiments and tendency to take all sorts of inappropriate blame on yourself. The others though, that's all negligible. Fact is, some people need to die."

"Do you honestly believe that?"

"After the number of my own kind I've killed? Yeah. We put 'em down like rabid dogs, but they can still think, talk, walk on two legs, use their opposable thumbs, and reason. Might be twisted as fuck, but they have reason. Everything human. But they still need to die."

"Greater good?"

"Needs of the many."

"Sure, maybe I'll grant you that, for the greater good of everyone else on Earth, it is acceptable to kill when you know it'll save hundreds of lives. That's morally permissible for most, but to enjoy it... I laughed, when I killed him. I laughed like he does- did, and I enjoyed every second of watching him bleed out into his cell, knowing that only a handful of people would know what I did, know it was me, and that made me feel this thing, like pride, like it was something I should be praised for, that I killed him, that I made him suffer, and that no one would know."

"After what they all did to you- I know you remember, don't give me that shit-" She flipped him around, pressed him into the wall she'd been leaning against, and growled into his face. "They may have erased it from everyone's minds, even their own, even the Bat's, but I know. And you know." He really wished he didn't. But any kind of trauma forgotten wasn't dealt with and he'd be damned if he let that eat at him every day from the back of his unconscious mind. Thinking back, he probably should have let the JLA mind-wipe him. "I can't blame you for enjoying it kid. I've killed enough people to know just what that feels like. Vindication, power, and the knowledge that you are absolutely alive by virtue of killing someone else. It's validation in the most animalistic way possible. Speaks to you."

"But it shouldn't-"

"What? You think after years of being noble, of having Bat-morality practically forced into your head, believing that murder wouldn't solve anything - you think prevents the base parts of you from reveling in death? Sorry, kid, but you're just a highly advanced predator who can feel guilt. Blame evolution for that, but you still feel the thrill of bloodlust. Like any other bird of prey."

Okay, so he probably should have known that she wouldn't condemn him for this, but damn it if his self-flagellation streak wasn't as wide as a jet plane.

"Why are you here?"

"To check on you. Kick your ass if necessary. Tell you I know, that I really can't blame 'ya. Probably one of two people who couldn't, even if they tried."

"Slade knows, doesn't he?"

"That man knows just about everything to do with you, little bird. Kinda stalker-like, if you ask me."

_Well, fuck_.

"You should still get the kid to Wayne, before you decide to do something monumentally stupid like try to kill Deathstroke for creepin' on you all those years."

"When did he get his dirty talons in me?"

She didn't bother answering, they both knew, it was that first mission where they came up against with Deathstroke the Terminator (God that name was overcompensatory, but what do you expect from an amoral merc who possibly couldn't die?). He walked away wondering what side the man stood on, all he could come up with was 'his own.' And that rankled because so much of what Slade did was helpful, so many depraved lunatics killed by those guns, but he'd still take out a contract on the League or the team for the money.

He remembers questioning himself for days on how he felt about the man. He knew what Bruce would say. He knew what Robin would say. But Dick Grayson, who was human, who knew loss and the desire for revenge too well, didn't have an answer.

"When everything goes to hell, because it will, I'll have your back."

"Thanks."

* * *

><p>It had been his last mission as Robin. He'd been caught by the Joker, slipped up, made a rookie mistake he should be well past, but the loss of another teammate had fucked with his head.<p>

He couldn't remember too much of what had happened to him in the two hours he'd been drugged and held as the man's captive, but he could remember the blood, the pain, the absolute degradation, and the absurd thought that '_looks like this bird is finally carved..._'

Ostensibly, he knows what happened. He knows he was raped several times with extreme prejudice and gratuitous use of a knife. It's a clinical fact in the back of his mind that he acknowledges with the same amount of feeling as he recognizes the fact that grey skies can be depressing to most people, especially in winter.

The experience of it, through the drug haze, is indefinite pain and humiliation and desperation and why-won't-this-stop-Bruce-where-are-you-please-come-find-me-please. Then darkness.

He came to on a rooftop, his torn costume doing little to cover him, but the cape of the batsuit had been wrapped around him. He sat up, pulled it tighter around his shoulders, just in time to watch as the Joker pulled out a gun. He didn't think, just propelled himself the scant few feet and threw his body in front of Batman's, taking a bullet to the shoulder and getting tossed off the roof by the force of the blow.

He remembers being glad that he wouldn't have to live with the memory of what had happened to him. Glad he'd been able to save the man who'd been the closest thing he'd had to a father since he watched his own die.

He remembers being disappointed when he woke up in the 'Cave. Remembers never being so depressed to be breathing.

* * *

><p>Getting Damian into the BatCave is easy, if you have the right tools, come dressed in simple combat blacks with a leather jacket (no civvies in the 'Cave, if you can avoid it, and no Renegade, he can't do this as Wilson's new trainee), and are in good with the butler.<p>

Yeah, they walk up to the front doors of Wayne Manor. Alfred looks like he doesn't know wether to hug him or scream at him, he does neither, his strict adherence to propriety overriding all nurturing instincts, for the moment.

The door closes and he might as well be facing the Inquisition.

"I have no weapons on me, Bruce really needs to meet this kid, and Renegade has taken his last contract. I, I'm so sorry, Alfie. But I had to. I can't really explain it better than that, but I had to. I couldn't let them- I couldn't let them-"

He can't bring himself to say it, but Alfred knows. He puts a hand on Dick's shoulder and leads him down to the cave. No more words necessary.

* * *

><p>It went badly. But not as badly as it could have, all things considered.<p>

They were waiting for him, knew he'd show, but Damian stuck to the shadows like he was told, like he was taught, and Dick had to grin at that.

It still was so much fun to surprise the old man.

"Batman."

"Renegade."

"Is finished, well, mostly. Took his last contract tonight. I'd say I'm here to turn myself in, but we both know how catastrophically bad that would be, not to mention the fact that I've still got a case to work, so if you don't mind, I'd like 24 hours before you decide what kind of penance I have to pay for my sins."

All he received from Bruce was a slight narrowing of his eyes into the infamous BatGlare™ - _heh, Bruce should so trade mark that... Not like he needs the money, though._

"Dick, why did you-?" Tim.

_This isn't going to be fun._

"I'm probably losing my mind, Timmy, and it's kind of a great feeling, but that's not why I'm here. If I may..." He gestures vaguely between the four of them (Cass standing like a wraith by the computer, distinctly not reacting to his presence).

The Oracle symbol blinks into focus on the large monitor, a computerized voice ringing across the cave, "You operate pretty well for an insane man, _former_ Boy Wonder."

"Lose the robot voice, babe. It's doing nothing for you." Like he'd let her circuitry and cynicism break him that easily. Not now, not when he was so damn close to figuring out what they were after and stopping this mess.

He simply couldn't back down. He was entirely incapable of it.

"Not like there's anyone there to impress."

"Not like there's anyone who doesn't know who you are, either."

He heard a distinctly Barbara Gordon sigh over the line and couldn't hold back a grin. "Good to have you back with us."

"Don't. Just-"

"Gotcha."

Tim seemed to have recovered himself enough to ask, "What are you doing here?"

"I've got some information on quite a few cases I've been running. First order of business- Damian, if you will..." The boy stepped out of the shadows behind him, walking up next to him with the regal pride of a peacock, entitled and arrogant. "Before either of you react to the kid, Bruce, you might want to read this file and run a blood test." He tossed over the small USB drive containing the stolen information on Ra's and Talia's heir project. Dick watched the infinitesimal change creep over Bruce's features.

"Congratulations! You have a biological son you never knew about 'till now!"

He knew he was pushing it, but he couldn't just _not_ say it.

"Dick." Said vigilante-turned-Anti-hero grinned at the sound of his name, looks like Bruce had dropped into something resembling family again, not that he meant to, of course. The man had lost any claim to real sanity when Jason died and never got it back, so these moods were something of a rarity combined with a psychotic break.

"I know. I thought, if anything, you should be told as soon as possible. Talia refused to say anything and I knew you'd want to see him. I might have, kind of, bribed him to get him to leave with me. He's got a case of hero worship-" The kid interrupted him with one of his disdainful '-TT-' noises. "- and really wanted to meet his _father_." The first Robin pronounced the word with the same pretentious intonation Ra's grandson had used, however the syllables dripped off his tongue as if they were steeped in sarcasm.

All he got in return was a grunt of acceptance.

"Oracle, can you get me an analysis on this-"

"On it, Batman."

"So, this kid's really Bruce and Talia's son?" _Oh, Tim, you really need to learn to curb that youthful glee. Never gonna make mini-Bat status with that kind of emotional tell._ Sometimes he hated it, but Tim really was closer to Bruce than he or Jay had been. They worked the same way, Tim just didn't have all the years of control and repression.

"So they claim, Robin, but you never really know with them. I don't have the equipment to run that kind of blood test, so I can't be sure, but the evidence looks pretty conclusive. Figured I'd let you two handle this one from here."

"And the other?"

_Ah, yes, the Mission. Can't be digressing in the 'Cave._

"The reason why Renegade is operating, such as he is. Luthor's organized a Secret Society of Supervillains, numbering something over 500 members. As you know, Deathstroke is one of the main leaders of this movement, which allows me access to information I wouldn't have otherwise. Like the fact that Lex isn't acting very much like Lex and he isn't telling anyone what his real plans are. I don't know exactly what he's looking to do, but it's bad. I'll do my best to keep in touch, give you as much of a 'head's up' as I can, but you might want to assemble some friends, and fast. It's going to get nasty, and I don't know how much longer we can keep you their 'Immediate Target' list..." _Because I've done everything I can. I've avenged everyone, I've done everything I can to keep you safe, got rid of those who would be gunning for you, or at least convinced them it'd be a bad idea to try. I'll be there, you know, to keep you all alive. Even if I have to kill everyone on that battlefield, I won't lose you. I'm not burying another brother, another father, another best friend, another family. I can't, I've already lost two._

He didn't wait for the realization to cross their faces, as he knew it would. Alfred had known it upon seeing him, now they would, but if he didn't see them, if he hadn't watched them know the truth, he was safe. His cover was safe.

"Oh, and Jason should be waiting outside, if you ever decide to admit that he's actually back."

There was an unsteady silence behind him as he turned away, heading toward one of the more unused paths out of the cave.

Uncharacteristically, it was Bruce who broke it. "What you did to Joker-"

"Was entirely warranted. If I could have enumerated every one of his crimes in his blood along that cell wall, I damn well would have, and _you know it_. You may not know why, but you know why you can't remember. Either way, it wasn't what the client wanted, and I'm just enough of a merc to stick to the contract. Guy's gotta earn money somehow. Bullets don't come cheap."

"You don't have to do this, Dick."

"You're wrong. I do. And, Bruce? If we both survive this, we'll talk."

He threw open the door and stepped out of the cave.

* * *

><p>It was chaos, pure and utter chaos. Deathstroke and Ravager were working through the ranks, taking out those they thought needed to be killed (he agreed with most of the choices). Renegade shot a gun out of the hand of one of the Society members, just in time to stop the shot from catching the back of Arsenal's shoulder. Red Hood stood next to him, guns blazing but only incapacitating. He nodded to his brother and best friend. They'd take decent care of each other, especially if Starfire stuck with them, the Tamaranian princess wading through enemies just ahead of the two marksmen.<p>

Batman, Robin, and Batgirl made a formidable team toward the center of the fray. They were separated but working as a unit, as they'd been meant to. He turned away, knowing they'd be fine for the moment.

He looked for Wally, all that remained of his old team, saw the speedster close by, engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Dick cringed inwardly and Renegade sprang into action, moving to take over the new Flash's battle. Wally always had sucked at close quarters fighting. They took the man down, a third-stringer Dick couldn't recall the precise name of (but he knew the man's stats and style, and that was enough), but he took a bad hit to the shoulder. His twin sword style would be compromised, but he'd easily take on Bane unarmed for Wally, no questions asked.

Assured that the scarlet speedster would be fine for the time being, Dick turned back to the main group of bats in the center, just in time to watch them attempt a move they'd apparently hastily adjusted. It was intended for the four of them and it relied on Nightwing's flexibility and accuracy. One of those 'all hell breaks loose' moves that they almost never used but still knew how to do. Rarely, if ever, did the four of them fight together. Fewer still that they weren't working isolated.

He moved before he'd even registered exactly what he was planning on doing. He jumped up, grabbed Tim by the arm and adjusted his trajectory, Robin landed feet-first into Clayface, and Renegade quickly implanted two explosive disks into Basil Karlo's clay-like skin and detonated them.

It left him completely vulnerable for an attack from Black Adam. The punch landed square in his chest and sent him hurtling into a wall, his head cracking against the stone and his vision blacked as numerous wounds caught up to him.

He knew he'd never be back.

* * *

><p>AN: I'd say I'll make it up to you all, but I think I need to make it up to myself, too.

If you have anything you'd like to see, let me know. I'd be glad to take the suggestions now that I've tortured myself with this plot idea.

- Kirrae


	6. When Death Finds Me

A/N: I can't really call this a chapter, but it's the conclusion of the arc from Chapter 5, so it's GA Earth-2 (lol) if you want to avoid Dick as Renegade. It was longer, but I cut it at somewhere under 500 words because it started getting too out there, even for this 'verse. So I left it here, and will be getting back to regularly scheduled programming after this ^_^

This chapter is basically for IncognitoPinapple (you anon reviewer, you) and DarkGoddessofShadows who wanted more of this 'verse and a conclusion to last chapter. There is a lot more I can do with this storyline, but I'm pretty sure no one wants to see what kind of absurdity my brain was straying into. Oh, the slashy possibilities I refuse to write into this fic...

* * *

><p>Chapter Six<p>

He doesn't really wake up. It's like he's watching a film reel of his life, but he knows its all memory. Someone else's memories. It could probably use some somber mood music, judging by the images flitting through his mind.

He sees himself fall, hit the ground, and be enveloped in a net of familiar magic. He feels the tug of old memories that aren't his, memories of bodies he's never seen, in clothes he's only seen on statues, in paintings, in movies. He feels remorse that isn't his and a fierce anger that echoes with thousands of memories. He feels older than time and more powerful.

He sees his family fall, but it isn't John and Mary Grayson that die in the front of his mind, but _Marcus Tullius Aurelius_ and _Caius_, _Lavinia_ and _Tullia_, then _Aelius_. He sees his first kill and feels his last moments as a human fade. He smells fire and steel and thinks of _Cato_. Magic's cool touch and spellfire recall images of _Léon_.

He feels the pull between his disparate selves, the consciousness which isn't his (but still is) and his body. Its then he has a sneaking suspicion of what happened, but he's too caught up watching to looks on everyones faces, the rage, and the protectiveness. His throat goes hoarse as Val calls for Jason and Cass to guard him, his hands clench around an unfamiliar sword hilt with a natural ease and he rushes into battle beside Bruce, Slade, Tim, Roy, Wally. He's in awe of just how many people react to his fall with that much emotion.

He expected some of them to be sad, but let it go because damn it, Renegade wasn't a hero.

The remaining Gotham rogues and those from Bludhaven (Ivy, Catwoman, Mad Hatter, Lady Vic, Double Dare, Freeze, Penguin, and too many others) shift alliance. They turn on their former 'allies' and the battle turns into absolute chaos. No one really knows who to blame, but it's become a fight about him, some kind of protective streak they all have for him (one he never really knew about). And likely a lot of bruised egos on just who had the right to kill the Bat's eldest Bird.

He isn't surprised to see Slade and Bruce at Val's (his) side, leading the charge. After that brief moment of clarity, it's all movement, hypnotic, and he loses the memory strands like streams of water through his fingertips.

He wakes up knowing he shouldn't have.

* * *

><p>AN: Let me know what you think, if you have any questions, or any suggestions. Feedback of any sort is always welcome and keeps me from doing stupid things.

- Kirrae


	7. I Know I'll Be Forgotten

A/N: This is probably going to be the last chapter of this. Hope you enjoy it.

* * *

><p>Chapter Seven - Of a Boy and a Gunshot Wound<p>

Dick Grayson walked out of the zeta beam into Mount Justice for the last time. He had an empty bag slung over one shoulder, and shades practically hanging off his face. His feet dragged along as he forced himself to walk into his room and remove every last personal effect he had stored there.

Kaldur and Megan watched from the couch as he passed, both confused by his actions. They'd heard from Batman that Robin was out of commission, injured, and would be off active duty for quite a while, but they hadn't expected the teen to walk in, a bag over his shoulder, and walk dejectedly through the halls.

"Robin-"

"Team meeting in fifteen, if you could call Artemis, Conner, and Wally for me, that'd be great Kal."

He was down the hall before Kaldur'ahm could respond.

* * *

><p>He stood in front of them, unmoving, rumpled, and tense. His team all looked awkward, shuffling feet, fidgeting. Everything was out of place.<p>

"I was fired this morning. I'm no longer Robin." Quick, flat, lifeless.

He thought it'd be better this way.

"What?" Conner.

"How did-" Artemis.

"You were just-" Megan.

"How does that even-" Wally.

"Can he truly just fire you?" Kaldur.

"Apparently, yes."

"But, this isn't a job, you don't get hired, no one asks you if you want to-" Artemis.

"To him, it's a job. And that's all. I failed, so I'm fired. I'd have given you more time, but, as I'm already off active duty, it shouldn't make too much of a difference. Kaldur, looks like it's your team again. Good luck everyone."

He turned his back, picked up the duffel bag, and tossed his sun glasses to the floor.

He was at the door when they finally realized exactly what that meant.

"No! Dude, you can't leave us, bros for life, remember? Can't you just, I don't know, not work with the Bat? If he was stupid enough to fire you for saving his damn life-"

"Wally, don't. Just don't go there, okay?"

"Fine, but tell me why the hell you not being Robin means you have to leave-"

Dick Grayson turned around to face his friends, and for the first time all five members of Young Justice saw ancient blue eyes set in a face far too young for the tragedy they carried. "I have to leave because he runs this team, and I've been fired. As his partner and team leader. Even if I did get a new costume and a new name, I still couldn't be on this team."

"Because that son of a bitch fired you."

"Yes."

"How can he even fire you? You're Robin. Not Batboy or Batlad or even Kid Bat. Robin is your thing, Dick, how-"

"He just can, okay Wally. He's Batman."

"Wait- what did Kid Dork just call you?" Artemis looked at him, one eyebrow quirked, challenging.

"My name is Richard John Grayson, but everyone's always called me Dick."

"Then you-" She cut herself off.

"Yeah," he said with a weak chuckle. "I told you we'd laugh about it some day."

* * *

><p>A few months later, investigating a drug trafficking ring in Bludhaven, the team ran into a black and blue clad vigilante with a familiar habit of flipping off any structure in his path.<p>

They were fighting against the group of drug runners, not nearly as smoothly as they should have as it seemed they were missing something, but the five young heroes clearly outmatched the thugs they were up against.

However, in one moment, a shot rang off and they seemed to freeze for a moment, as if waiting a command that never came. In that moment's hesitation, one of the gang members was able to get a gun to Miss Martian's head, he pulled her tight to his chest, using her as a hostage.

Before she could phase through his arms, a projectile hit him in the back of the hand and knocked the gun to the ground, before a black escrima stick whipped against the back of his head.

"Looked like you could use a hand." Was all the costumed man said before moving to disable another thug. M'gann moved with him, falling into a familiar pattern of attack, as if she'd fought with the man before, but she couldn't read his mind, nor could she remember ever meeting a man in a black costume with a blue stripe running from his chest and back down along his arms and fingers.

When the floor was strewn with the unconscious forms of their enemies, the black clad fighter straightened up and smiled as he was faced with five armed and wary heroes.

"Who are you?" Artemis. She always did have no patience.

"You know, it's rude to ask my name without giving yours in return. But, since you don't seem to be the type to care, call me Nightwing."

"Nightwing? What's that, some kind of Batman ripoff?"

"I wouldn't say I'm anything like Batman. After all, intimidation, fear, and animal costumes aren't exactly in my typical repertoire. But then, Flash boy, I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Kaldur stepped in front of his team, getting just inside Nightwing's striking distance. "What are you doing here?"

"Just stopping some drug trafficking. Same as you, I'd suppose. Now, if you don't mind, could you get out of my city and tell your pointy-eared captain to keep his pet team out of Bludhaven?"

"You know, I wish Robs was here." This seemed to make Nightwing laugh. "What's so funny, knock-off?"

"I'm just amazed he hasn't had the replacement added to the team."

"Replacement?"

"I take it you haven't met the new Boy Wonder, huh? I'm kind of jealous. Kid's got a mouth and a quick temper."

"Batman wouldn't just replace Robin!" M'gann seemed to realize just how false that statement was halfway through making it. "At least not without telling anyone."

"You sure about that, Miss M?"

"Robin?" The Bludhaven vigilante shook his head, but smiled.

"Nightwing. And, for your information, the JLA knows about me. If I were an enemy, they'd have warned you. Now, the nearest zeta beam access is three blocks south and one to the west. They don't think I know about that, but then, I've been hacking their files for years." An eerie, familiar cackle followed the words, as Nightwing disappeared into the shadows.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, and put this on your favorites list. I'm glad you enjoyed my aimless ramblings in this.

As always, feedback would be greatly appreciated. Even if its 'you spelled that word wrong' or 'your writing bores me.'

- Kirrae


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